” “Of course not,” said Ramage, as one who rouses himself from deep preoccupations And he began to question her in a business-like way upon the steps she had taken and the inquiries she had made. The little spot of rouge was vivid enough now by reason of this new pallor, which seemed to draw the colour even from her lips. Afterward, one afternoon, he hovered about her, and came and sat beside her and talked of beauty and the riddle of beauty for some time. He got off on it. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. His glasses were gone.
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